


I Think We Should Try

by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly



Series: Reunion [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:12:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3843595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey and Ian need to talk some things through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think We Should Try

“It’s cold,” Ian murmured after a while. “You wanna go inside.” He could feel the wind biting his cheeks and the tips of his ears; it felt like the cold was attaching his ass to the top stair. The only part of him that was still warm was where Mickey’s hand was holding onto his.

Hesitating, Mickey shifted to look at him. His expression was guarded, and Ian wondered if he was getting ahead of himself. They hadn’t even had a proper conversation yet, not since... Ian stopped that thought in its tracks. He didn’t want to go there right now, not with Mickey right in front of him. Knowing he was pushing it, but not wanting Mickey to leave just yet, he added in a cajoling tone.

“C’mon. We got hot chocolate. An’ those little marshmallow things you like.”

Mickey smiled, and it almost reached his eyes.

“Yeah, Gallagher, that sounds good.”

Neither of them said anything else as Ian stood up to unlock the door. Walking in, Ian was just about to tell Mickey to take a seat, feeling weirdly formal all of a sudden, when he spotted Frank passed out on the couch. The older man had somehow managed to twist his body to where he was almost kneeling; his upper body was resting on the couch, knees were on the floor, feet on the coffee table.

All Ian could do was stare incredulously.

“Yeah, I think we’re gonna be better off in the kitchen,” he muttered.

Making his way across the living room, Ian found himself glancing behind him to make sure Mickey was really there. Every couple of steps, he’d check Mickey’s expression, see if he was still okay being here. Ian knew it was only in his head, but part of him expected Mickey to come to his senses, and bolt.

“You, uh, want somethin’ to eat? I think we got bread. I could make you a sandwich,” Ian offered as Mickey took a seat at the kitchen table.

“Nuh, I’m good.”

Conscious of Mickey watching him as he moved around the kitchen, Ian wanted to break the silence. He tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t get them into weird or uncomfortable territory right off the bat, but came up empty.

Finally, he finished with the hot chocolate, being sure to add the promised marshmallows, before taking a seat opposite Mickey.

He watched as Mickey took a sip, gave him one of those almost familiar smiles.

“Thanks,” Mickey said. “This is nice.”

 _Nice_. Ian almost flinched at the word. Now they were talking to each other like they were strangers.

“So, uh... how you been?” he asked after a moment.

“Alright,” Mickey answered with a shrug. “Things at home have... gotten back to home.”

“I’m glad, Mick,” Ian said earnestly. “Is, uh... Is Svetlana back? I guess she must be, with you havin’ a party for Yev. Unless, she had it somewhere else an’ invited you...” Ian realised he was rambling, so he forced himself to stop speaking.

“Yeah, she’s back. Didn’t have much choice,” Mickey told him. “She was worried ‘bout Yev bein’ there.”

Ian felt a wave of guilt crash over him. With everything that’d happened, he hadn’t had the time to talk to Svetlana, to apologise. Given that they’d almost become friends while he’d been living there, he could only imagine how betrayed she must have felt.

Almost as betrayed as Mickey.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For... so much. God, I wish...” Ian blinked back the tears that threatened to escape. He wanted to do this _right_ ; he needed Mickey to _know_.

“Not mad,” Mickey told him.

“Jesus, Mick, why the hell not?”

For some irrational reason, Mickey’s words made him furious. He shoved away from the kitchen table, out of his chair, to pace the length of the room. Ian needed him to be angry. Because if Mickey was angry, they could fight, they could move past this. But... quiet resignation? He didn’t know how to work with that.

Turning back to Mickey, Ian hardened his voice.

“You should be pissed. I cheated on you. I bailed on you how many fuckin’ times, took your kid with me. And you’re fine with that?”

“I cheated on you, too.”

Those words were said so softly, and yet Ian felt them on every part of his body; it was like the wind had been knocked right out of him. He lost the flimsy hold he’d had on his anger.

“You did?” he asked in a small voice.

Ian knew he had no right to ask questions after all the shit he’d pulled, but this... _This hurt._

“It’s my fault,” he whispered after Mickey gave a brief nod. “I-I was a flake, an’ I put you through—”

“No,” Mickey said sharply. “I knew what I was doin’. You don’t get to put that on you, okay?”

Silence descended on the kitchen, and Ian wanted to scream, to throw something, to force _any_ kind of reaction from the man sitting across from him. He hated this distance between them, but was terrified to breech it.

After all, he’d been forcing reactions out of Mickey for months now.

“What now?” Mickey asked after a minute.

“I... I wanna make things right,” Ian told him. He returned to his seat, leaning on the table to stare earnestly into Mickey’s face. “Mick, I lo—”

“Please,” Mickey’s voice broke in. “Please, I-I can’t... You can’t say that to me. Not right now, okay?”

Ian’s battle against the tears was lost. He could feel them trailing down his face.

“What do you want me to do? Mick, I’ll do anything.”

Swallowing hard, Mickey shifted in his seat. He was quiet for so long that Ian felt the vague stirring of panic in his chest. _This couldn’t be over._

“D’you wanna try again?” Ian asked quietly.

“Yes.” Ian was answering before the words were even all the way out of Mickey’s mouth. “Of course.”

Mickey nodded his head; toyed with the mug in front of him.

“Okay.”

Hesitant, Ian was the one to reach out this time. The relief that Mickey let him do it, that he didn’t flinch away from the contact made Ian brave. He gave Mickey’s hand a little squeeze.

“It’ll be better this time. I promise.”


End file.
